


and we are going down

by ripplingtale



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplingtale/pseuds/ripplingtale
Summary: The skies were always so cruel to the souls without wings.





	and we are going down

**Author's Note:**

> Grandblue Fantasy belongs to Cygames, and I, as a writer, didn't take any material profits from the content here. A character study of Sandalphon, or most specifically, pining Sandalphon, since I have zero (0) idea how to write him.

The skies were never a scary place.

For Sandalphon, at least. Perhaps for Lucifer, too. And for Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael. For each and every angels, for each and every primal beasts. Because all of them were winged; because they were so blessed, so favored. Because they could herald elements and step into the void.

The skies were never a scary place, because Sandalphon was fluent in the language of stars, in the songs of clouds, in the dance of sun. The skies were never a scary place, because albeit Lucifer locked him in the corner of horizon, Sandalphon saw with his eyes and spoke with his voice. He knew everything and nothing at the same time, he knew better than anyone.

“Though, you see.”

Sandalphon surfaced between Gran’s chuckles. The captain held onto his cup as if he tried to gather every warmth possible from the lukewarm coffee. Gran took a tiny sip; Sandalphon saw delight flashing across his eyes, ablaze just like how alive he was. “After all, we already went through so many things, so if I’m scared, it’s kind of anti-climactic, isn’t it?”

The supreme primarch shrugged, sipping his own drink as if he didn’t just trace the light casted in Gran’s eyes. “It’s not like I know what fear is.” Or should he? Even when he faced Belial—that damned, _damned_ Belial—Sandalphon only knew red; wrath, flame, he wanted to tear Belial’s limbs one by one, his wings first, his head last. “Mortals have something primarchs didn’t.”

Gran’s tilted his head, a soft smile pressed upon his lips. “Emotions?”

Sandalphon looked at the young captain as if he just grew a horn like that of Azazel’s. Primal beasts have emotions, mostly. Take Rosetta for example, and the whole squad of non-humans aboard Grandcypher. However, their grasps upon the theory of it was merely too weak, too faint, hence not all of them could properly say what they wanted.

The captain sipped his coffee again. “But, really, Sandalphon, are you sure—“

His words came clipped as something crashed against Grandcypher. Rackam was shouting, followed by a howl of something not quite a mortal as the ship swerved to the side in a sharp move. It echoed, making ripples on the air. There were footsteps, and then more screams. Gran stood before the door crashed open, Lyria and Vryn bounded into the room without a spare breath.

“Gran! Something is trying to attack Grandcypher!” Vryn squeaked, fear bright in his eyes. They followed Gran as the three briskly walked out from the kitchen, Sandalphon casted his thoughts and matched their pace, empty coffee cups laid forgotten on the dinner table.

“Is it primal beast?” Gran grasped the hilt of his sword, wary stirred between his sentences.

Lyria shook her head as Grandcypher trembled with a groan. “No, I don’t sense anything from it!” And indeed, it would be not possible, for surely, one of the primal beasts aboard Grandcypher would tell the captain should they encroach a dangerous territory not meant to be for a mortal’s sight.

The ship let out another groan, followed by the echo of Rackam’s shouts.

Sandalphon could taste the feeling of magic; the warmth of fire, the splashes of water, the burn of wind, the bite of earth. He could hear the shouts, the screams, the orders originally from the deck of Grandcypher. The crews already made their move, but even with so many people, whatever that attacked them wouldn’t bow down. The ship trembled and swayed, whispering in protest.

 “Lyria, stay inside.” Gran nodded to the smaller girl, pushing her shoulder lightly to the back. His gaze promptly shifted to the supreme primarch, brown eyes ablaze without fear, without an inkling of doubt, as if he had already grasped glory, as if he was so sure the world would give him mercy. “Sandalphon, I want you to check around the back. Take Vryn with you too.”

Grandcypher trembled again, and they swerved to another side.

“C’mon!” Vryn shouted as they stepped to the deck.

Light filled the deck, alongside glints of blades and flashes of bullets. Sandalphon almost lingered to watch—watching how close death would be—should Vryn not pull at his hair, earning a grunt. They made a sharp turn around the corner, rushing to the back. The light from the deck casted long shadow across the floor, Vryn let out a noise akin to a whimper.

There was nothing in the back.

The wind swirled wildly around them as the taste of magic made Sandalphon’s skin prickle, as if thorns pressed upon his veins. “Should we keep watch?” Vryn broke the echoed silence with a reluctant breath, holding onto Sandalphon’s hood lest the wind spirited him away alike feathers.

Should they? There was a chance another enemy would appear, and everyone was so focused on the deck, fighting whatever that wanted to swallow their flesh. Even if all the crews combined together was a force to be reckoned with, another enemy wasn’t exactly a feasible thing. Besides, if Sandalphon and Vryn stayed, they could prevent Grandcypher from getting destroyed further.

Heaven knows how much Rackam would cry over the mess on the deck.

As Sandalphon weighed his options, a scream broke the noises of blades and bullets, ringing loud and clear in a sudden gush of silence. Vryn turned before Sandalphon, his entire little body stilled.

“Gran!”

Sandalphon turned just a moment before Gran lost his balance and fell from his place standing on the edge; into the skies, million distances away from death. Some of the crews ran to pull at his arms, but a howl broke down, and they scrambled for defense. Vryn flied away, turning into a flash of red, and yet, he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t quick enough; his little hands stretched to no avail.

It was the first time Sandalphon learned how to fall.

He heaved his body over the divider and just let everything embraced him tight. The wind was fierce, the cloud had fangs, they bit and they bit deep to his bones. The feeling was different than when he brought his body up; gravity was merciless, the sky was cruel to souls without wings.

Gran was a mere figure of black and blue far down, alike a doll with broken threads. He didn’t flail and stir, grasping his blade as if it was the line between his daydreams and nightmares. Sandalphon remembered how he looked like that as the primarch pushed him from the edge of the island, too. As fragile, as weak, dangling with closed eyes. The captain was a mere mortal in the end, and falling to his own death wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t fight.

Six wings unfurled, and no one sang the end of the time.

Because their Singularity had not touched the ground, yet.

Sandalphon forced his wings to fly a little bit more; faster, faster, just a little faster. The air tasted like hurricane, like a storm. Sandalphon wanted to turn, wanted to see, to find the eye of the storm so he could navigate his way up. However, his eyes refused to stray away. Something twisted and churned deep in his mind, reaching between his thoughts, wailing louder, louder, louder. His wings were heavy on his spine, trembling with a duty he needed to bring back.

His fingertips felt so cold, as if he touched frost. Sandalphon tried to take a glance, to make sure his palms weren’t frozen. It weren’t, and yet, he couldn’t feel his flesh, his bones. His wings were stiff, thin mist slapped against his cheek, his eyes, his mind wailed even more, crying for help.

Whose help he needed? Lucifer was no more.

Sandalphon was the supreme primarch now. He had six wings; six ivory wings, splayed wide with pride and so much dignity. Lucifer would shake his head in shame if Sandalphon still couldn’t reach Gran in time with his wings. He was winged; it was enough blessing, wasn’t it?

Gran was falling faster than him, it almost didn’t make sense. He was like a rock, and Sandalphon hovered just right above him. Words garbled around his tongue, binding his throat. He wanted to say something, to shout, to yell, but his voice was lodged in his lungs. He clicked his tongue, arm stretched as far as he could, forcing his frozen fingertips to reach onto Gran.

And when Sandalphon grasped onto Gran’s wrist, the wail in his head stopped.

Sandalphon immediately stopped his movement, trying to strive against the wind. He brought Gran up, putting the captain’s arms around his shoulder and securing his hold on Gran’s hips to make flying easier. The supreme primarch looked up, narrowing his eyes to find Grandcypher.

The ship was a mere dot, but it mattered not. Sandalphon’s wings fluttered open, slowly, slowly, slowly, he picked up his pace; this, _this_ feeling, he was familiar with it. The feeling of hovering above the cloud and the tide, the feeling of reassurance against the fact you wouldn’t fall down. The weight of his wings were lighter now, pressing against his back, brushing against his skin.

Gran was conscious because Sandalphon could feel him peering up, trying to see past the afternoon sun. The captain was cold, colder than the air around them. It was as if his soul was falling out from his body, leaving cages of bones and freezing veins. There was a graze on his cheek, the blood starting to dry out, persistent beads dribbling into Sandalphon’s shoulder.

It was almost laughable, should it be seen from another eyes. Sandalphon still remembered how he pushed Gran down the edge of the island, and Gran would surely remember how it felt to fall to his own death. Sandalphon didn’t know how many times Gran tethered from the edges and into the skies, however, falling was always a scary thing, wasn’t it? Knowing there was nothing to hold, nothing to save, nothing to turn as colors turned into a burst of blurry hues.

The skies were never a scary place for Sandalphon, because back then before Lucifer blessed him with his wings, Sandalphon had his own; dark and brown, with white linings just like a sparrow’s. But perhaps, it wasn’t like that for Gran. Without Grandcypher, he wouldn’t be here. Mortals had something primarchs didn’t, primarchs had something mortals didn’t.

Sandalphon wondered if Gran wanted wings, whether Gran wanted a power more than his own.

There was a flash of fire in front of Grandcypher, and something big swayed from the deck, falling along with smoke and ashes. Sandalphon could hear a second of cheers, before another silence claimed their mouths. The supreme primarch didn’t bother to announce their arriving, he deviated them to the side and crouched on the divider, letting Gran hopped down.

“Gran! Sandalphon!”

Lyria and Vryn immediately latched themselves on Gran as he landed on the deck, hugging him so tight until Gran made a soft, choking noise. Sandalphon rolled his eyes, his wings fluttered open; catching the wind with the feathers. He stepped down, then to the side as more people ambled closer, waiting for their turn to scold the young captain over his carelessness.

“Sandalphon,” Gran called amidst the chatters around him, earning the last attention Sandalphon could spare. The captain grinned, showing his teeth. His gratitude dripped, dripped, dripped, and Sandalphon caught it between his, now warm, fingertips. “Thanks.”

The supreme primarch paused.

Warmth crept up his nape. He shook his head in a sloppy gesture. He already drank so many of the captain’s gratitude; Gran’s thank you always tasted like a cup of coffee with too much sugar, too much honey. Sandalphon just realized it now that he tasted it properly, sipping it carefully.

Gran grinned at him again before getting dragged inside to be treated, leaving Sandalphon on the edge of the deck—still with his wings splayed out, caressing eventide with dancing feathers. A huff escaped the angel’s lips, pulling Lancelot’s gaze, who stayed to help around the deck.

“Are you all right?”

Sandalphon’s words shaped a longing.

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading through the end!
> 
> As the stated above, this is a character study for Sandalphon, since I'd like to write more about him (and San/Gran) in the future; I found this ship adorable and filled with angst-qualities, hence maybe that's all you will see from me. This is also my first time writing in this universe, I'd appreciate critics and advice!
> 
> Shout out to Frey, my beta-reader, who patiently listened to my rants about San/Gran and crying over the description of Sandalphon's wings. I was running out of ideas, and truthfully, I prefer San's brown wings rather than Lucifer's three pairs.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading, I wish you all a good day!  
> \- Az.


End file.
